Chapter 7 - THE FAKE PROXY
The flashbulbs were blinding.
I stood at the podium in the grand atrium of my corporate headquarters, the towering glass windows behind me framing the city skyline. Over fifty reporters from every major financial network were packed into the room. The news of the FBI raiding the Monroe estate had leaked an hour ago, and the financial world was in an absolute frenzy.
I adjusted the microphone. The room fell dead silent.
“Good morning,” I began, my voice carrying clearly over the speakers. “Today, the FBI arrested Charles and Vivian Monroe on multiple federal charges, including embezzlement, racketeering, and arson. Furthermore, I have provided the Securities and Exchange Commission with original documentation proving that Monroe Holdings was built entirely on stolen assets belonging to the late Arthur Vance.”
A collective gasp echoed through the press pool. Reporters shouted over each other, desperate for details.
“As the primary creditor holding Vanguard’s debt on Monroe Holdings, I am initiating an immediate, hostile takeover of all Monroe corporate assets to ensure the stolen funds are returned to the rightful victims.”
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors at the back of the atrium slammed open.
Celeste Monroe marched into the room.
She looked immaculate, weaponizing her appearance for the cameras. She wore a tailored white suit, her hair perfectly styled, playing the role of the innocent, victimized heiress. Behind her trailed a team of high-priced corporate lawyers.
“Stop this press conference immediately!” Celeste shouted, her voice echoing through the massive hall. The cameras instantly swiveled toward her.
She walked down the center aisle with the confidence of a woman who believed she still held the winning hand. She reached the front of the podium, glaring up at me.
“Adrian is lying,” Celeste declared to the press, her voice trembling just enough to sound sympathetic. “My parents are innocent. This is a malicious, vindictive attack by a bitter ex-fiancé who couldn't handle that I called off our engagement last night.”
I watched her perform. She was brilliant at it.
“Adrian doesn't have the legal authority to execute a hostile takeover,” Celeste continued, turning to the cameras. She pulled a thick, legal document from her lawyer’s briefcase and held it up. “Because as of this morning, I am the majority shareholder of Adrian’s company.”
The reporters went wild.
“What is she talking about?” a CNN reporter yelled.
Celeste smiled, a vicious, triumphant smirk. “My father didn't just groom Adrian. We bought out his private equity partners over the last three years. And this morning, his Chief Operating Officer, David, signed over his 15% voting share to me via a proxy contract. I control the board. I am firing Adrian effective immediately.”
She slammed the proxy contract onto the podium right in front of me.
I looked down at the document. The signatures were there. The legal jargon was flawless. To the untrained eye, it was a lethal corporate decapitation.
I didn't flinch. I didn't grab the microphone to argue.
I simply reached into my suit pocket and pulled out a small, plastic evidence bag containing Arthur Vance’s gold pen. I laid it gently on top of the proxy contract.
Celeste frowned, staring at the pen. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Look at the signature David used to sign his shares over to you,” I said quietly, leaning into the microphone so the entire room could hear.
Celeste looked down at the paper. David’s signature was signed in a very specific, vibrant shade of emerald green ink.
“That proxy contract was signed ten years ago, Celeste,” I revealed, my voice echoing off the glass walls. “David didn't sign it this morning. He signed it when he first betrayed me, offering it to your father as insurance. But your father was arrogant. He never filed it with the SEC.”
Celeste’s face paled. “That doesn't matter. It’s still a legally binding transfer!”
“No, it isn't,” I corrected smoothly. “Because five years ago, when Arthur Vance supposedly committed suicide, he left his entire estate—including his proprietary patents and remaining equity—to me.”
I picked up the original deed I had recovered from the safety deposit box and held it up for the cameras.
“Arthur Vance legally owned the land Monroe Holdings built their flagship properties on,” I declared. “Which means Monroe Holdings has been operating on stolen property for twenty-five years. Any contract, proxy, or equity share purchased using Monroe funds is legally void as the fruit of a poisoned tree.”
Celeste stared at me, the blood completely draining from her face.
“You don't own my company, Celeste,” I said, looking directly into her panicked eyes. “But as the legal heir to Arthur Vance, I now own yours. Every building. Every account. Every single penny.”
The cameras flashed like strobe lights, capturing the exact moment the Monroe heiress realized she was entirely, irreversibly bankrupt.
Celeste’s lawyers backed away from her, quickly packing their briefcases. They knew a sinking ship when they saw one.
Celeste stood alone at the podium. She looked around the room, breathing heavily, desperately searching for a way out. She reached into her expensive handbag.
“If I go down,” Celeste hissed, pulling out a small, brass safety deposit key, “I am opening this. It’s the vault where David kept all the dirty secrets you used to destroy your competitors, Adrian. I’ll leak it to the press right now!”
I smiled. A genuine, cold smile.
I reached forward and plucked the brass key from her trembling fingers.
I held the key up to the microphones.
“This key,” I announced to the press, “opens Locker 402 at the Grand Central train station. Inside, you will find unredacted financial records detailing exactly how Charles Monroe bribed city officials, orchestrated the South Ward tenement fire twenty-five years ago, and drove Arthur Vance to bankruptcy.”
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Celeste gasped, stumbling backward.
“David didn't betray me to you, Celeste,” I whispered so only she could hear. “I betrayed you to David. I gave him those files to give to you. I wanted you to bring them here today.”
